Sure Thing CG

Posted: July 28th, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Comments Off

Cancer Girl looks into the mirror, slowly she watches her reflection fade into black ‘n white.
She touches the mirror, Big Band music plays in the background. Her clothing, hair & surroundings morph into a 1940’s theme.
She mutters to herself, “Hot dang, at least I look like Lauren Bacall. Let’s flow with it fellas!”

    Cancer Girl turns a wobbly glass doorknob attached to a well worn wooden door adorned with a smattering of small holes in it. A mixture of stale and fresh cigarette smoke slams into her face like a wall of rushing water. She takes a step back to read what’s been painted on the milky privacy glass. Fresh black painted letters read “HB’s Detective Agency.”
     She takes one more look at the small holes in the door and then casts her eyes upon the handsome yet beleaguered looking man sitting behind a beat up mahogany desk. With his feet up on the corner of the desk he leans back, clasps his hands behind his head and stretches, “Nice to see ya again, Cancer Girl.”
     Casually she shifts her weight onto her left hip and slowly, ever so slowly looks up at the man. “Humphrey, I thought I told you to just call me CG? You know there’s no need for formalities between us anymore.”
    Spontaneously their eyes both shimmered with the recollection of a certain freaky-deaky summer afternoon on his boat.
      He took one last drag on his cigarette, crushed it out in an overflowing ashtray. Taking in a deep breath he leaned further back into his chair and stretched yet again, “And I thought I told you to just call me HB?”
     His eyes followed her as she sauntered over to the window. She struggled a little while trying to get it to release the room of it’s thick dank fog. He got up and helped her, leaning ever so slightly into her curves. She obliged the intimate moment and then stepped back once the fresh air began to struggle its way into the office.
     Standing up straight and cocking one eyebrow she said, “Well, you started it, HB.”
     He grinned a grin that only an experienced devil can grin, “Indeed I did, today.”
    She threw her clutch purse onto his desk, plunked herself down into the one and only expensive item in his otherwise spartan office, a plush leather office chair. She threw her lanky legs up onto his desk and her feet onto a stack of papers. While admiring her expensive suede pumps she said, “Well, HB? What have you found out for me? What’s the lowdown on my situation?”
     HB pulled another cigarette out of a pack and nervously played with it while he stared out the window. He walked around to the front of the desk and leaned up against a filing cabinet. He looked down at his unlit cigarette and then up at her.
    She looked at the cigarette, “Well? Are you gonna mangle that thing to death or tell me the cold hard facts?” Then she looked up at him, “And by the way, thanks for not lighting it up just yet.”
    He hooked one of his shoe’s heel onto a handle of the filing cabinet and readjusted his posture, as if for a lengthy stay. HB took in a long breath, “Okay, CG. You never were one for sugar coating. See here, Lady, it’s like this. A mastectomy ain’t no cancer slam dunk solution. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride … please pardon the Betty Bug-eyed quote there.”
    Cancer Girl chuckled, stood up and patted the chair’s seat. “It’s okay, Mister. Come on over here and at least let me hear the rest of this cancer horror flick script in a love’n spot.” HB obliged and she plunked herself down onto his lap.
     Tossing back her hair she stared into his soulful blue eyes, “Tell me the rest just like you like your scotch, neat with no twist.” She crossed her legs and nestled deeper into his masculine frame.
     HB cleared his throat, “You keep doing that and I’ll never get around to telling you the rest of the script.” She smacked his bicep, laughed and then laid her head on his shoulder, “Okay, tell me straight up.”
     He took in a deep breath, “Okay, CG, this is for starters. The breast surgeon is gonna remove all of the fatty breast tissue in that right breast of yours. Then he’ll inject some dye into your lymph nodes to see if whether or not there’s any cancer is in those too. Right then and there the dyed lymph node ‘ll be rushed off for a biopsy, if no cancer cells show up in them? You’ll get to keep the lymph nodes. Then after that brief interlude, of which you’ll still be lahlah land for, the plastic surgeon will walk in right behind the breast surgeon and slide a temporary implant behind your chest wall muscle. He’ll also be the one that’ll sew you back up.”
     Cancer Girl undid HB’s tie and unbuttoned a couple of buttons. While nervously playing with some of his chest hair she asked, “What else did Hitchcock throw into this script?”
     HB kissed her on the forehead, “You’re gonna wake up from surgery feeling like you got ran over by a Mack truck. That, by the way is a direct quote from the Breastacleese doc.”
     Cancer Girl took in a deep breath, got up from HB’s lap and stood by the window. Breathing in as much fresh air as she could she pensively said, “Oh joy.” She turned and saw a regretful look on HB’s face. Softly she said, “It’s okay, HB, go on.”
     HB gazed upon her body’s graceful curves. He so didn’t want to tell her the next part of this maiming cancer script she was in store for. He summoned his courage when she shot him a ‘get on with it look.’ He waited until she broke her gaze and resumed staring out the window.
    “The doc said for you to stay in the hospital until you were ready. Basically to take your time, don’t let anybody rush you outta there. See, your Fibro is a big unknown in this whole thing. It could be a nasty little monkey wrench or it could end up only being a mild curve ball. There’s just no telling, Lady.” She nodded yes and continued staring out the window.
     His voiced lowered into almost a hushed tone, “Then the real fun starts, CG. The doc says he can’t make your replacement breast as big as what you were born and blessed with. You gotta downsize — from a D to a C, sorry to say.” She interjected, “No porn star wannabe look for me then, huh?” He nodded no.
     HB threw the now mangled cigarette into the ashtray and pulled out a new one to nervously obliterate. “Normally the doc said it’s about an eight month ride of injecting more and more saline into the temporary implant via a injection portal under your skin. The scar tissue, breast skin and chest wall muscle have to stretch out to accommodate the ever increasing saline volume.”
     She turned, took a step forward and rested her weight onto her shoulder against the window frame. “HB, is this gonna hurt a lot, be real painful?”
    HB shrugged his shoulders, “The doc says each patient is different. Some seem to only experience mild discomfort after each saline increase, so they can go at a faster pace. Some, however, experience a lot of pain and have to take it more slowly. He assured me they’d go at your pace, however long that is. Again, your Fibro is a big unknown in this whole horror flick script.”
      She could see on his face there was more to come, “Come on, HB. We agreed, neat, no twist. Don’t hold back now.”
     He met her eyes dead on. “You’re gonna be lopsided for a good while, Lady. But, for a very short time your right breast will be the same size as your remaining one. See, they need to stretch out the muscle and tissue of the replacement breast to be larger than the final implant size — to compensate for muscle and skin retraction and for any internal scar tissue build up.” He still looked hesitant.
     She gave him an ‘and?’ look. He pushed on. “Remember the doc said he can’t make your replacement breast as big as you are now?” She nodded her head yes. “Well, that means when he does the surgery for the final implant, cuts you open again, he’ll have to reduce the size of your healthy breast to match the final size of the implant. And, since symmetry is everything these days, he’ll also do a breast lift on it. A nipple reconstruction on the implant breast will get done at a later date. Like the doc said, symmetry is everything.”

     She let it all soak in for a few seconds, took in a deep breath and walked towards him. She leaned over and gave him a kiss. He pushed his fingers through her long hair, pulling her close. He kissed her back. She stopped and started to pull away, he gently pulled her even closer, kissing her for a few seconds more. Then he stared into her eyes while running his fingers to the ends of her long silky hair and let her go.
     Taking her purse, she straightened out her dress some and proceeded to sashay her way to the door. She knew he was watching her every step, so she wiggled just a little extra for his pleasure and for her feminine benefit.
     She turned around and coyly played with the holes in the door. “Now that wasn’t really all that bad, now was it, HB? At least I shot you with kisses after the bad news,” she gently swayed from side to side while still playing with the holes, “unlike some of your other clients it seems.”
     He chuckled, “Yeah, kisses are better than bullets any day of the week.”
     She turned to leave, tugged at her dress one more time and said over her shoulder, “A pre-surgery  freaky-deaky summer boat ride sure sounds like fun. How ’bout it, HB?”
     Once again, he grinned a grin that only an experienced devil can grin. One that silently said, “Sure thing, CG.”

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